An unsigned letter
by Unlucky Duckie
Summary: Warning Tcest, turtlecest, coarse language (thanks Raph), mentions of sex (although it is not explicitly described) and buckets of general angst. Raph's thoughts and anger about Leo's time in South America. RaphxLeo, LeoxRaph, RaphxMikey
1. Chapter 1 Fuck You Leo

This story is kind of dark, extremely unromantic, and not even a little funny. Sorry I'm kind of messed up sometimes. Inspired by Pink's Who knew

Song prompt: Who knew

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I didn't understand why you had to leave us, me. I still don't. If someone had told me a year, a month or even the day before ya told us? That you'd be walking out? They'd be lucky to come away missing a few teeth.

I remember that first hesitant night, some grimy roof top, some argument. Like two falling stars burning together, ya called us. An' I hit you, and when you didn't hit me back, I believed.

That last night before your training journey, I was still so angry I couldn't see strait. You came to me, I was jus' standing in the dark, to angry to even move. Ya touched my hand, you undid me with a word, a look. "Please." ya said.

That night, well even I have ta' admit it was somethin'. Everything had this extra sharpness because I knew I wouldn't have ya' again for so long. And after, when we were finally finished an dawn was pressin' up against the sky, we promised all those thing that I guess lovers do. You said even though we'd be apart, we'd be together. Forever. I believed you.

At first it was hard, those first three months I found my self sneakin' in to your room on the regular about once a week just ta' smell ya on the sheets. I used to run my fingers over the spines of your books just because ya' had touched um. I was careful then, didn't want ta' do it to much cuz your smell would fade.

Then it was harder, the next three months your letters got less frequent, more distant. I was in ya room three, four time a week. Sleepin' in your bed durin the day. I started hitting the rooftops with Casey at night. Just for some distraction. It was ok if my smell gradually started replacin' your own, if I picked somethin' up off your desk and didn't know exactly where it went back. You'd be home soon, arms around me an' puttin' everything back in its place, or so I belived.

The next three months when you stopped writhing all together. They were even harder. Worry was breakin' me apart, and so I did the only thing I knew how to do, I broke stuff. Faces mostly, but I also totaled a couple ah cars, bikes, store front windows, even went a few rounds with the sofa one night if anyones ever wonderin' why it looks so worn. Drove Don up a wall, Mr. Fix it, Doctor Donnie. But he couldn't fix me, and I think that got under his shell a little.

Casey and I were out almost every night now, and if Case wasn't around Nightwatcher rode solo. Most nights he came around though, he was my best friend and he was going to help me get through this last difficult stretch. He'd fill the void you'd left with a grin, or a beer or a punch to the shoulder or a good tip on which warehouse we could find some action. He didn't see that I'd already started to grow into the empty places you'd left, I didn't either. You'd be home soon and things would fall right back in ta place. It was what we believed.

The week before you were supposed to be home, I was half out of my shell with anticipation. Casey sensed ta extra swagger in my step, and gave me shit about it. Said we'd have to bash the skulls of a few extra punks b/c my ass would be too sore to ride the shell cycle next week.

I think I handled the first week after ya were supposed to come back pretty well considering. I was anxious, but the Jungles a long way from NYC, any number of things could of caused delays, hell not a lot of calendars in the rainforest maybe you had lost count. But you were on your way back to me. ya were almost by my side again I believed that.

The next few weeks kind of all blur together, I vibrated between giddy although gruffly express excitement at your impending return and bouts of dizzying terror that ya weren't coming back. That something terrible had happened to ya out there. At some point I can't pin down I started spending a lot more time in your room. Like all of it, I'd lock myself in there for hours, then days.

Some time in the second month, after a several day disappearance in to your room Mikey picked the lock. He had a grill cheese with tomatoes on it, called it a pizza sandwich. Got me to eat it by crying, not those big crocodile tears of his, real ones. Mikey told me between sobs that you were fine, that I needed to stay strong for when you came back. I could see he was half trying to convince himself. I told him I know if you were dead. I believed it.

Three months in to your extended absence I started to feel the changes in my self. I still spent an amount of time in your room that can only be described as unhealthy. But my fear and grief were now punctuated with anger. Anger wound its way up and started filling the holes ya left in me. Mikey had now decided that one part time job wasn't enough. It was now his full time mission to keep me alive and functioning. I didn't make it easy on him. I think it was out of pure desperation to try something, anything to help me that made him reach out and kiss me that first time.

I took him right there in your bedroom, the last your scent still lingering on the sheets. The first time I may have screamed your name at the end. All the times after that, I rarely said anything at all. Mikey only once suggested we try doing it somewhere other than in your bed. One short sharp refusal from me and he dropped it. I think he thought of himself as a place holder, just something to hold me together until ya came back. I thought of him as a weapon, I learned his body, his likes and dislikes. I thought his pleasure would hurt you. I made him cum over and over again because I believed that.

By the time we came up on the six month mark I had fallen into a kind of routine. I was back out on the streets as Nightwatcher almost every night. Sometimes with Casey, but more often on my own. By day I'd sleep, occasionally fuck Mikey in your bed if he was around, or break something of yours if he wasn't. I tore the pages out of your copy of art of war one at a time. I took your favorite book and made it a calendar of my anger. Mikey would sneak back in and carefully smooth the pages and tape them back in.

It was easy for him to sneak into your room, with a roll of tape or tub of spackle to fix whatever I broke because I was spending less and less time in there. I was also spending less time with Mikey, which I felt a little bad about. But revenge sex only works if the person you are trying to hurt knows or cares. You were out there dead or alive, but either way you weren't coming back. That's what I believed.

Strangely, I felt better. Better than I had since the day ya left. You were gone and whatever we had wasn't strong enough to bring ya back to me. But I was free of you, and the weight of our love now. Whatever happened from here was up to me. I poured myself into the role of Nightwatcher with more enthusiasm than ever. I felt like I had found my place, my purpose. Real danger and fights every night, Mikey's constant adoration didn't hurt either. With you gone he needed someone to look up to. It felt good that it was me even if he didn't know I was the Nightwatcher.

Rolling steadily towards the nine month mark, I was seeing less of Mikey. The occasional tumble on your bed on the most difficult days. The rare ones when I found myself back in your room, finger running down the now very battered spine of Art of War wondering why. It was also around that time when I had my first experiences with women. Adrenalin fueled trysts in dark alleys, usually after I had saved them from some jumped up purse snatcher. I was always careful to keep their hands busy, or face them away so they couldn't go for the mask. Few ever did anyway, it was Nightwatcher they wanted. I never found anything in those rough brick walls, or their soft pink skin that compared with you. But I believed it was enough for me.

At almost a year of your extended absence, two years total- I'm pretty content. I like being the Nightwatcher, putting all the anger you left me with, not to mention all the anger I already had to good use. Life's not perfect, but neither am I. We get by just fine without you.

Then you came back, and my world fell apart a second time. Fuck you, Leo.


	2. Chapter 2 Message Undeliverable

Some people seemed interested in more of this story, so I expanded it a little. I'm not sure if it was a good idea or not. Sometimes if you stretch something out it just dilutes it? But I don't want to disappoint the readers either. I'd be very curious to hear what you think of this instalment, and if it adds to or detracts from the first part.

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You came back and you said nothing. You went up to your room which I had trashed and they had put back together for two years and ya smelled me and Mike on the sheets and you said nothing. Fuck it, what was there to say anyway? You'd have ta feel something to say something.

That was the first night I ever took him some place other than your room. He was hesitant at first, it confused him with you bein' back and all. But I had spent 6 months learning his body, so it wasn't too hard ta get him on his back against the hard concrete floor of the garage. It was rougher than he liked, but at the end I felt better, like I was empty and light.

I stopped messing around with women in dark alleys after ya got back. After that first night I never touched Mikey again. It was like that part part of me had been cut off, I didn't want him. I didn't want you either, I kept telling myself that till I almost believed it.

If I occasionally woke from dreams that gave the truth to that lie, sticky, churring, and still hard I didn't sweat it. My dreams were different now than they'd been when you were gone. Different than it was between us when we'd been together. The dreams were something darker than we'd ever shared, there was blood and pain tangled up in the their quickly fading pleasure.

My routine changed again. In the days with you and the team, slipping out late night to the roof tops. I went harder as Nightwatcher than ever before. Ya saying shit and ordering us around got ta me, ya not saying shit got ta me. So I got in ta it with the local criminal element. I got in to it hard, and it helped me think about something other than you.

But then ya found me up on the rooftop, I should've just kept running but ya started lecturing. Ya had all these words for some stranger you had never met, after saying nothing ta me. Suddenly I didn't want to run. I wanted to fight. I wanted to feel heat of our argument, after so long of not feeling much of anything at all. You drew me to ya, like a moth to a flame, blind and burning.

It was even better after ya got my mask off. Because that got ta ya. It bothered you that ya had somehow missed me bein' the Nightwatcher. That perfect cool facade began to crack. An obvious flaw in your supposedly flawless leadership. What we had didn't matter to ya, maybe it never had. But I could still scratch that surface. I couldn't make ya love me, but I could make you hurt.

Shell, what a fight. Ya hadn't been on vacation down in the jungle, you were quick and as finely honed as yer blades. But two years of fighting made men and gang bangers every night wasn't a vacation either so I was fast and sharp. I was also highly motivated. Sometimes a fight just comes down to wanting it more, and right then I couldn't think of anything I wanted more than to beat that smirk off yer face.

You had me backed up against the ledge, red neon and rain. But I pushed back, got your swords locked in my sais. Straining against each other was strangely familiar from a time when this might of led to softer things. Years of sparring, and rough housing that became fevered kisses, burning embraces, nights of passion that left me bruised and wanting more. It was those memories tumbling around in my head that drew a final growl from me. That pushed me to push you harder.

There was something in yer eyes as we circled, regret maybe. For a second I could see that I had forced ya to think of us, ta really think. You looked down for a moment arms still locked and strong against mine. But when ya looked back up I saw that flicker fade, and something cooler slid back in ta place. That did it, I twisted my sai's out with everything I had, two years of pain and longing compressed in one sharp movement.

Yer katanas broke, and I was on ya. Kicking ya down and pinning you with a knee on your chest. Weight supported on the sai I had just drove in ta the roof next your head. Second hand poised for to strike. Pinning you down on a rooftop in the rain, the hot glow of the neon, us both breathing hard, your face inches from mine. Echos of the past all around us now.

And I knew you saw me then, saw my pain, saw my bitterness at your betrayal. There was sympathy on your face, compassion I didn't want or need. I got off you, fast but not fast enough. I was already exposed and I ran for the second time that night. Even though there was nowhere to run anymore. Even though I'd never be able to run fast enough to get away from how I felt.

Yer scream split the night air. And I turned, already too late.

The heart I didn't think I had any more broke at the thought of losing you again.


	3. Chapter 3 Return to sender

I thought I knew pain in your absence. It is nothing compared to the pain of having ya here besides me. Your scent fills the lair once again. It's lingering tendrils wafting over me and drawing the dull ache of desire taunt between my legs. The cold burn of the shower every morning helps. I stand shivering in the icy water and I feel something other than the ghost of your touch.

A month ago, back we went up against the stone generals, there was a moment in the elation of our victory that I felt that spark from long ago. The fawning adoration on ya face when I pulled you from the cage was more than I could bear. I turned away willing the wall of my anger to rise up between us again. But instead I was swept by an unbearable desire to hold you, to reassure myself that you were whole and with us again. I swear I envied the stone of our enemies hearts.

In the aftermath things at home have settled into a routine. I try and put a brave face on it, knowing what my anger has wrought. Our family is complete again it should be enough, but it isn't.

I want to free myself from the shadows of the tenderness we once shared. Ya taught me by yer absence and presence in turns that hope is the cruelest master. Still I say nothing, patrolling every night, eating meals in silence, trying to hold my shit together for fear of fracturing our brittle family. I avoid ya as much as my short leash will allow.

I will fight for you, and I would die for you. If you ordered it, I would march against all of our enemies at once, face the great waves of steel and anger, with my back against the wall and my death in their eyes. These days I fear living more.

There is a softness in your gaze some nights that stirs things in me. Other times you get this look in your eyes, and I know you are with us and yet not with us. Standing besides me in the flesh you are back in the jungle. Tracing the stars of the southern hemisphere, a hundred thousand miles away in your mind. And all this time under your curious glances and distant sighs I am burning deep in my core, fire a constant threat to our once again quiet lives. I don't want these feelings anymore.

It's a slow night, and ya find me lifting weights in the dojo, ya come in silent as a shadow. I don't even notice you're there until one of your strong hands is on my shoulder turning me towards you. The familiar calluses sear my skin. I keep my head down trying to look anywhere but at you.

"Raph, we need to talk." Your voice is firm.

"Please." I hate the fragility of my voice. My face is hot and my shell suddenly feels to tight across my chest.

"Please what Raph?" you continue unyielding.

"Please don't make me love you again." my voice shakes, my vision blurs with unshed tears. I hate you seeing me like this. But I hate that you can still make me feel like this even more.

"Oh, Raphael" your hand slides from my shoulder around to my shell pulling me against you. Your other hand lifts, coming to cradle the back of my head. I can't decide if I want to fall into your arms or if I want to sucker punch you.

You smell amazing, feel even better against me than I remember. It takes everything I have to stand still, hands clenched at my sides- so tight I can feel my nails cutting half moons into the thick skin of my palms. Your body rocks gently against mine, for a moment my heart slips its coffin. I bite my tongue desperate to stifle the sob that hitches my throat. The sharp coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and very carefully I take a steadying breath.

After a minute you draw back, seeming puzzled by my lack of response. You aren't used to me holding out on you, especially not emotionally.

Your eyes widen suddenly, rare anger flashing across your face. "Is it Mikey?" you hiss the words barely a whisper. I let the silence drag on, relishing the sudden warmth of my answering anger. It feels good to be angry again, a familiar shield around my battered heart.

Your face falters as I glare back at you. "Raph, just tell me. when I came home I could s-smell you both tha-that you had been t-together in my room."

I keep my mouth clamped shut, and through narrowed eyes I watch you fall apart. "I asked him." you whisper "he s-said t-that you had sex." your visibly shaking now and I feel a feral grin part my lips. "b-but h-he said you weren't together."

I smile wickedly as I reply "Yeah, I fucked Mikey." my voice is raising to match my temper "Mikey's a sweet fucking lay." your responding wince is better than if I had sucker punched ya. "We're not together, so your totally welcome to hit that." you look stricken as I roll on, shouting full out now. "Shit Leo, you could pick up some pointers." I'm already heading for the door feeling better than I have in a month "He's better than you!" I roar as I yank the door open.

I nearly froze as I catch sight of Mike and Don in the living room. Mikey's liquid eyes are huge and as round as dinner plates. Donnie looks furious. Well, fuck 'um. I've got momentum now and the comfortable shield of my rage. I barrel towards the lair exit.

"Wait, Raphael!" I look over my shoulder, to see you framed in the light spilling from the dojo. Seeing the dark stain of real tears on your mask almost undoes me. I almost run back to wrap you my arms around you, almost throw myself at your feet just to be close to you again, almost, almost. Instead I shout back "You're to fucking late Leo!" and then I'm running down dark tunnels.


End file.
